AN: Hey all. So this one's the biggie. The multi-chappie. The plot-tastic Cherik masterpiece. (Or so I hope!) Got this idea thanks to Lady Gaga (or her lyricist), way too many comics, and interminable hours of boredom as a stock clerk at 7-Eleven. I hope you all enjoy it, and pleasepleaseplease review! Reviews are encouraging and awesome and I love them way too much!
Rated M for: Angst, violence, language, Dark!Charles, and slash (possible smut).
Love is just a history that they may prove
And when you're gone, I'll tell them my religion's you
When punctures come to kill the king upon his throne
I'm ready for their stones...
We are not just art for Michaelangelo to carve.
He can't rewrite the argo of my furied heart.
I'll wait on mountaintops in Paris cold
Je ne veux pas mourrir toute seule...
I wont cry for you
I wont crucify the things you do
I wont cry for you, see
When you're gone I'll still be Bloody Mary -Stefani Germanotta
My people. The children. The children.
You will not break me.
I have had it before.
The water is
Frost like X like must X tell must X X...mind X Frost's mind. Emma...Emma where are you!
There is no
air. No skin left.
Stop stopstopstop Bitte töte mich einfach töten Sie mich nurmich töten...
XxXxX XxXxX XxXxX XxXxX XxXxX XxXxX XxXxX
Charles Xavier sat bolt upright in the king sized bed. Sweat soaked through his night shirt, dripped from his throbbing forehead, and his throat was tight with a panic that was and was not his own. Slowly, he got his bearings...he was at the mansion, in his own room, alone...the digital clock on the night table read 4:21am. He was home...not in that place of horror that resonated between the goosebumps covering his arms and legs, in each pound of his laboring heart. He was not where Erik was...Erik. He heard him...like those ancient days...those days before the helmet.
"No, surely not," the telepath murmured as he maneuvered his body into the wheelchair directly adjacent to the mattress. "Just a dream...a nightmare."
And yet he knew he was awake for good now...the ice stabbing irrationally at his gut would see to that.
A series of mundane actions that were once infuriating. Shower. Clothing. Stairs (Except not). The date was September 15th, 1965, and Charles, three years after his own personal Armageddon in Cuba, had long since mastered the usual challenges of a legless existence. He could do all of the essential things by himself, but at times like these, when his mind raced faster than the Blackbird, what he missed were the inessential boons of being whole. Charles wanted to pace.
Instead, he settled for wheeling. Back and forth, back and forth across the ground floor's largest kitchen, occasionally pausing to calibrate the coffee maker or listen for stirrings of mental distress in some of the younger student's rooms.
"We're their leaders, Charles. Not their babysitters. So what if Sean is hung over? Your coffee may as well be battery acid, I'm surprised YOU don't have an ulcer."
The telepath shut his eyes as the memory surfaced, clear as a photograph, a phonograph. He sipped the dubious beverage in question, formula unchanged since '62, except this time no one was here to make fun of him for it. Yes...pacing wasn't the only thing Charles missed. And like his legs, his spine, Erik was a scabbed over wound, a constant aching absence he had learned to manage.
Oh, they still spoke. Still fought with words, knights, pawns, and sometimes powers. They still loved, and a handful of times, when one or both of them couldn't stand it anymore, still spanned the night to touch as they had before the bullet. Before that goddamned helmet. But their problems and the world always greeted them in the morning. The X gene and mutant kind were the elephants in the room, and they left no space in bed for both of them together. It hurt too much to manage that kind of pain.
The telepath finished his liquid breakfast and immediately regretted it; he was in no state for strong beverages. That dream...it had been so real, so utterly...but how could it have been? Why, he had just seen Er...Magneto, hadn't he? He had come to the mansion at the start of the new term, to put the finishing touches on Cerebro's panels and lecture Charles on the dangers that this new war, Vietnam, posed to mutant rights. They'd had a row as usual, this time about the motives of Lyndon B. Johnson (He's a LIAR, Charles! How can I, the one with the skull as good as iron, see that, but not you?), and the helmet remained in place as it always had, and always would. There was no way...
Charles placed his mug in the sink, and made his way to his study/the physics classroom, intent on making use of his wakefulness via the fresh batch of genetic publications that had arrived the day before.
He knew then, really. In his bones.
XxXxX XxXxX XxXxX XxXxX XxXxX XxXxX XxXxX
"Shit, I am totally late!"
Kelsey Knoll swore at no one in particular as she caught sight of the time on her watch through a smudged glasses lens. 8:30...fifteen minutes and counting until class.
Figures. It's like my second day at freak school and I'm already slacking. Gotta get out of Weedy McHendrix mode cuz I have a feeling the Prof's gonna dig it about as much as my parents did!
The teen rubbed the last bit of sleep from her eyes, tied her unkempt red hair back in a ragged scrunchy, held her breath, and took the first step into a thousand more. The movements blurred and hurt her head, and she slammed into her dresser a couple of times, but she managed to remember what her teachers, what Xavier, had told her as her brain fought to catch up with her body. Keepdirection Knowtheroom Keepdirection Knowtheroom GAH MOTHERFUCKER IF I BANG MY HIP ONE MORE TIME...
Five seconds later, and she was fully dressed. Five-plus-two secs, and she was in the main hallway, wondering if she shouldn't have been good to herself and put on a little makeup. Bitchessssss there's a reason ehhhryone dubbed me 'Dash!'
Kelsey was about to double back and take her own mental advice, but a close commotion caught her attention. It sounded as though it were coming from the common room, which was mad strange because people only really chilled there after 4pm when classes were over (unless you were the frequency weirdo and didn't sleep, or had been up all night paper-writing before morning period). And there were other voices besides Frequency Weirdo.
Quick left, stop short, and sure enough, the room was packed. And oh everyone was freaking OUT. The older cute boy, Sean, hadn't even noticed that she'd stepped on his feet with her less-than-graceful entrance. He was too busy talking to the buff one, (Adam? Alex?), in really strangled whispers, like whispering at all was an effort for him. Then a couple of chattering girls, another younger one who was crying, and there was the blue furry guy. He looked so strange, pursing his lips like that...so nerdy and ...scared? Dash couldn't tell.
"What does he mean DEAD?" Yelled the buff dude (yeah that was totally Alex, she remembered now). "Erik's a fuckin' tank, ain't no way some government goons got him, and without the Sentinels! This doesn't make any sense...not that I really care I mean he was a tool but...oh I dunno. Sean, chime in any time here."
"I can't chime, man." Sean said, and leaned closer into the TV. The teen with super speed followed his gaze.
A crotchety old man she vaguely recognized from the evening news stared back seriously and shuffled some papers. His voice was a monotone, full of portents.
"Good morning citizens. This is an NBC breaking news special. We have had confirmed reports since around 5am this morning that the radical mutant activist, "Magneto," was killed along with eleven US soldiers and two other mutant intruders as yet unidentifiable in a devastating chemical explosion at Kronam Army Base just outside Sacramento. Magneto, real name Erik Lehnsherr, was being detained at said base for questioning related to possible communist-affiliated terrorism, and although his body has since been stolen by his agents, NBC shows here, for the first time, proof-positive footage of this menace to humanity's demise, as recorded by a nearby security camera."
The old man shrank, and in the box that eclipsed him, a woman who was not a woman exactly...more like a reptile...a Silkie, Dash thought wildly, a seal lady, a dragon lady, like those stories my mom tells...this scaled woman was kneeling in mud, half her face mangled and black. She hunched over, her arms clutching at a large filthy body...clad in a torn black suit thingy-and a purple cape. Its face was turned away, but what once must have been dark hair was patched and smoking with char. Next to him in the mud lay a hat. No, a helmet. The reptile woman was shrieking.
Dash was about to ask someone who "Magneto" was, (she sort of knew, but the last time she sat at home with ole mom and pop to fear-monger was when she was like, thirteen). The question caught on her tongue though, instinctively, as everyone else went dead silent and turned towards the door.
Professor X had just wheeled into the common room.
"Would someone mind letting me in on the reason for everyone skipping physics this morning? You can't cut classes when you all have the same...the same sched...oh...no. No it can't be I JUST...STOP! NO OH GOD, GOD WHYYYY please stop….no...no...nonono..."
Dash, horrified, watched as her new principal's bemused smile froze on his face. She watched as his hand shot to his temple, saw him pitch forward in his chair and shut his eyes as if a blow had hit him square in the stomach...and then he was screaming, yelling at them!...sobbing. Professor Xavier was sobbing uncontrollably, struggling with one hand to turn his chair around, shaking his head as if he had just received a death sentence.
The only three that seemed to understand were the oldest ones...Furry, Cutie, and Alex. With a single exchanged glance, they approached, Sean mumbling an awkward "I'm really sorry, Dude..." and pushed him out of the room.
Dash was left with her new way-confused classmates to speculate, except mostly she twirled a finger through her hair and stared at the floor.
She didn't feel good anymore...didn't feel like talking. All she could think about was the burned body on the TV, and the Professor's keening, un-professorly grief.
He hadn't even looked at the screen.
AN: So. Please don't stab me. Because if you stab me, you won't get to find out exactly how or why Erik died! And what Charles is gonna do about it! ;P REVIEWWWWW.